Richmond 1861
At the beginning of the new year, 1861, I began to include the Richmond Enquirer as part of Tessie’s daily reading material. Each morning after Daddy finished with the paper and left for work, Tessie and I would huddle near the fireplace in my bedroom and read aloud the latest news to each other. Then we would spend the rest of the day preparing my wedding trousseau and filling my hope chest. But throughout the month of January, the news we read grew more ominous, my future as a bride less certain. One by one, five more states followed South Carolina’s lead and seceded from the Union. Texas joined them on the first of February.
“Where’re all these places I reading about?” Tessie asked one morning. “They near Richmond?”
We went downstairs to the globe in Daddy’s library, and I showed her where to find the Confederate states: South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas. Then I showed her Virginia—sandwiched uncomfortably between the North and the South. Richmond was less than one hundred miles from Washington, D.C.
“What you think gonna happen here?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Everything is changing so rapidly—and you know how I’ve always hated change.”
“Oh yes, I do know that for sure.”
I gave the globe a spin, setting it in motion. “I used to believe that the United States was strong and that nothing could ever shake our great country. But this flood of hatred between North and South is spreading faster than I ever imagined it would.”
Tessie nodded. “It look like we all gonna drown in it pretty soon.”
By the time Abraham Lincoln was inaugurated as president in March, the renegade states had created a new government in Montgomery, Alabama, with a written constitution guaranteeing the autonomy of each state. They’d selected Jefferson Davis, the former Secretary of War, as president of this new Confederacy. So far, Virginia still hadn’t joined them.
I helped Tessie read President Lincoln’s inauguration speech in March as we sewed yards of lace on my bridal gown, and his words sent a chill through me. Lincoln promised not to interfere with the states that already had slavery, but he clearly believed that no state had a legal right to leave the Union. He said he hoped the crisis could be resolved without resorting to warfare, but he vowed to preserve the Union no matter what.
The idea of war was unthinkable to me, yet events seemed to be drifting dangerously close to one. At my engagement party two months previous, the rising tide of unrest seemed far away from Richmond. Now my familiar world felt threatened, the future precarious and uncertain as the floodwaters rose higher, inching closer to Virginia.
I turned to Charles for reassurance. He was now taking part in a state convention that was meeting to decide whether or not Virginia would secede. So far, the delegates had proceeded very slowly, leaving everyone waiting anxiously for news.
“There are three factions within the Virginia convention,” Charles explained to me one day on our carriage ride home from church. “Those who favor immediate secession, those who want to stay in the Union, and those who want to work out a compromise.”
“Which faction do you represent?”
“I’m not an official delegate,” he said. “I’m only assisting Mr. Randolph, but he favors compromise.”
I felt slightly reassured when Charles told me in early April that the convention had voted nearly two-to-one against a motion to secede. For now, it looked as though Virginia would remain in the Union. But that was soon to change—so swiftly, in fact, that we were all unprepared.
Late one Saturday afternoon in mid-April, I had been entertaining Charles’ relatives—Sally, his mother, and two of his aunts—for afternoon tea, planning the guest list for my wedding, which had been set for July 20. My visitors had just departed a few minutes earlier, and I was helping Tessie gather the dessert plates and teacups when my cousin Jonathan burst into my parlor in his usual whirlwind fashion.
“Is Sally here?” he asked breathlessly.
“No, you just missed her. In fact, it’s a wonder you didn’t bowl her over on the front walk.”
“Have you heard the news?” Jonathan’s face was serious, not smiling. I was almost afraid to ask.
“What news?”
“Big news, Caroline. The South Carolina militia has fired on Union troops at Fort Sumter. The war has begun.”
I groped behind me for the nearest chair and slowly sank down onto it. “No . . . that can’t be true. No one would be stupid enough to start a war against his own countrymen.”
“But it is true. All of Richmond is in an uproar. Come downtown with me. This is something you won’t want to miss. We’ll pick up Sally and then head over to the newspaper office to find out the latest.”
As Josiah drove us downtown, I silently prayed that the news would prove to be a false rumor. But when I saw the streets near Capitol Square jammed with carriages, my fears deepened.
“Where is this fort where it all started?” I asked.
“Fort Sumter? It guards Charleston Harbor.”
Even though Charleston was far away from us, I gripped Jonathan’s hand for reassurance. “How bad is this?” I asked. “Do you think the fighting will spread?”
“All I know is that South Carolina’s heavy artillery began bombarding the Union fort, demanding surrender.”
Our carriage slowed to a near halt in all the traffic. Impatient, Jonathan ordered Josiah to drive down back alleyways and side streets to reach the St. Johns’ mansion. When we finally arrived, Jonathan and I went inside to fetch Sally. She was thrilled with the idea of witnessing something new and exciting and readily joined us.
As we were leaving, Charles arrived. His quiet self-assurance had a calming effect on me. I felt ready to face anything with him beside me. He bent to kiss my cheek, and his clothes and hair carried the fragrant aroma of cigars from his endless meetings.
“Have you heard about Fort Sumter?” Jonathan asked him.
Charles nodded. “A messenger interrupted our meeting with the news, so we decided to adjourn. I was just coming home for our carriage to drive over to the Enquirer.”
“Come with us,” Jonathan said. “That’s where we’re going.” We all climbed into the carriage, and Josiah drove back toward the business district.
“Do you know any details about Fort Sumter?” Jonathan asked Charles when we were on our way.
“I heard that the Mexican war hero, General Beauregard, is in charge of the rebellion. He refused to allow a U.S. ship to deliver supplies to the Federal garrison, then demanded their surrender. When they refused, South Carolina’s artillery opened fire.”
I felt a heavy weight sink to the bottom of my stomach at the thought of men firing at each other. But across from me, Sally could barely sit still.
“This is so exciting!” she said, clinging to Jonathan’s arm. “How long do you think the battle will last?”
He covered her hand with his own. “Probably until the fort runs out of ammunition.” I could tell by the satisfied smile on his face that he would be glad if the battle lasted forever as long as it meant having Sally snuggled beside him.
By now, the area around the capitol was so packed with carriages that none of them could move—including our own. Many downtown businesses had closed, and people flowed into the streets as the sidewalks grew overcrowded, making the congestion worse. Josiah couldn’t make any headway at all with Jonathan’s carriage.
“Listen now. Maybe we’d better get out and walk,” Charles finally said. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to get any closer.”
We left Josiah and the carriage stalled on Ninth Street and threaded our way through the mob. Charles held my hand so we wouldn’t become separated. A huge crowd had gathered around the Enquirer’s offices, waiting for the latest dispatches to come over the wire. As fast as the editors received news by telegraph, someone shouted it from the windows.
“. . . Confederate forces have forty-three batteries stationed around Charleston Harbor . . . They have poured more than three thousand shells into the fort . . . The bombardment began more than thirty hours ago. . . .”
Finally, not quite an hour after we arrived, the stunning news came: “Union troops at Fort Sumter have surrendered! Fort Sumter has surrendered!”
The cheer that went up from the crowd was deafening. Jonathan shouted along with them while Sally hopped up and down, clapping her hands. Charles didn’t cheer, but he looked pleased. I couldn’t understand why Jonathan or anyone else in Richmond would cheer. Virginia wasn’t part of the rebel government, we were part of the United States—and the United States had just been bombarded into surrender. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted up at Charles, “Why are they cheering?” He led me around the street corner away from the mob so we could hear each other. “Why are they cheering?” I repeated.
“Because the South has won the first battle. The Federal forces have backed down. It’s a great victory for the Confederacy.”
“I know, but what does that have to do with us here, in Richmond?”
His expression sobered as if he realized the import of his words as he spoke them. “I guess it shows that Richmond’s sympathies are with the South. It may not take much to push the convention toward secession now.”
“Jonathan said that a war has begun.”
“He’s right. It certainly has begun in South Carolina. They’ve declared their independence and forced Union troops out of their state. How far Lincoln is willing to pursue this remains to be seen.”
Jonathan and Sally suddenly rounded the corner, hand in hand. “What are you two doing back here?” he asked. “Come on, we’re missing all the fun.”
We could already hear strains of brass music and the rattle of drums in the distance. A carnival atmosphere had gripped the city, so I pushed my fears aside for the moment, gripped Charles’ arm, and joined in. The crowd pulled us along as it surged down the street toward the river, following the music.
A few minutes later we caught up with the armory band. They had donned their militia uniforms and were marching down Cary Street to the popular tune “Dixie’s Land.” The effect of the martial music, the sound of bugles and drums, was instantly intoxicating. A surge of pride and patriotism flowed through us until it became impossible not to tap our feet or march in step. Even my pulse seemed to match the cadence of the snare drums.
Someone held a handsewn Confederate flag aloft, and the crowd, which had grown to more than three thousand people, turned down Fifth Street and headed toward the Tredegar Iron Works near the canal.
The sprawling complex of brick buildings billowed steam and smoke, symbolizing Virginia’s industrial power and might. Not only did the foundry produce cannon, naval guns, shells, and railroad iron, but the buildings themselves seemed to represent impregnable strength. Someone ran the Confederate flag up the pole on top of the building, and the crowd cheered wildly. The band played “The Marseillaise,” anthem of the French rebellion. Liberty for the South seemed within reach.
Tredegar’s proprietor, Joseph Anderson, delivered a speech, followed by more cheers. Then Virginia’s attorney general stood up to speak, reminding the crowd that the cannons that had brought victory at Fort Sumter had been made at Tredegar’s, right here in Richmond. I had to cover my ears at the mob’s deafening roar of pride and approval. Meanwhile, some Virginia militiamen had hurried to the armory and hauled out the weapons for a one-hundred-gun salute. Cannon boomed for more than an hour, rattling store windows and shaking the ground beneath my feet. Across the city, church bells rang endlessly from every spire and steeple. All around us, people embraced each other and danced with jubilation. Jonathan hugged Sally tightly, then lifted her in the air and whirled her around.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Jonathan shouted, his voice hoarse from cheering.
“Yes! Yes!” Sally laughed, gripping him for dear life. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, rosier than any rouge could have made them.
I didn’t understand what Jonathan meant. The atmosphere was certainly more thrilling than any Fourth of July celebration I’d ever seen, but I could see nothing wonderful about the inauguration of a war. Charles had added his own shouts of “Yes!” and “Hear, hear!” to some of the speeches, but he and I were much more subdued than the others. Still, we couldn’t help feeling the electric charge of exuberance that filled the air, nor could we help being swept away by it all.
We followed the multitudes back up the hill to the Enquirer’s offices for more speeches, including a stirring one by editor Jennings Wise. The crowd—and the traffic jams—swelled to even greater proportions as people arrived from the surrounding countryside, drawn by the clamor and noise.
I scarcely noticed that darkness had fallen. Bonfires and torches lit the city, lamps blazed in the windows of every house. We walked through the teeming streets like people in a dream, following meandering torchlight parades bearing Confederate flags; stopping to join groups singing on street corners or giving speeches; watching rockets blaze and flare above the glittering river.
Later, we followed a brass band and a wagon draped with banners to Governor Letcher’s mansion on Capitol Square. The masses chanted for the governor, shouting “Letcher! Letcher!” until he finally appeared. Everyone hushed to hear his words.
“Thank you for the compliment,” he said sternly, “but I must be permitted to say that I see no occasion for this demonstration.”
Waves of surprise, then anger, rippled through the crowd as he spoke. Letcher said that he did not recognize the flags they were flying, that they had no right to take the artillery from the armory, and that they should put it back immediately. Virginia was still a state of the Union, he insisted. Then, after telling us all to go home, he bowed slightly and returned inside.
The mob hissed as if Letcher was a villain in a melodrama. Someone shouted, “Aim the cannon at the governor’s mansion!” and the crowd roared with laughter.
The gathering gradually split into smaller torchlight parades, fanning out from the square in all directions. My feet ached. It seemed we had walked for miles, and I was growing exhausted. Sally looked tired, too.
“It’s getting late,” Charles said. “We’d better take you ladies home.”
As we made our way across the square toward Ninth Street in search of Jonathan’s carriage, we saw a group at the capitol building raising the rebel Stars and Bars in place of the Stars and Stripes.
“It looks as though Virginians aren’t going to wait for your convention to vote on secession,” Jonathan said with a grin. “Tonight, the people have spoken.” Even from where we watched across the square, the shouts that greeted the Rebel flag were uproarious.
“Some of them certainly have spoken,” Charles said quietly. “But we still believe in democracy here in Virginia, not mob rule . . . and I know that a good many people in the western part of the state don’t share these sentiments.”
We walked uphill, searching for our carriage. My emotions felt as worn-out as my legs. It was so easy to be caught up in the frenzy of the crowd, to rejoice over the victory at Fort Sumter, to feel pride for the part Richmond had played in making the cannon, to feel stung by the governor’s cold, dampening words. Yet part of me didn’t want Virginia to leave the Union and take the dangerous path toward war. I found myself hoping that cooler heads would prevail at the convention, that Charles would help Virginia reach a comfortable compromise without resorting to armed conflict.
It seemed as though everyone was choosing sides between North and South and that I must soon do the same. But I felt too confused to choose, my loyalties painfully divided. Virginia was my home, the United States my country.
We finally found Jonathan’s carriage. Hours had passed since we’d left it, but Josiah still sat tall and proud on the driver’s seat, waiting for us. I felt sick inside at the tremendous waste of it all— how a man as intelligent as Josiah could be forced to wait endlessly on someone else’s whim, as if he had nothing better to do, as if he was as mindless as the horses that had waited along with him.
“Oh, poor Josiah. He’s been waiting all this time.” My voice trembled as the last strand of my frayed emotions threatened to break.
Charles gave me a puzzled look. “Most carriage drivers spend a great deal of time waiting. I’m sure he’s quite used to it.”
“I know, but it seems so unfair. We can run all over the city, following the crowds and the excitement, while he’s forced to wait here for hours, just because he’s a slave.”
Charles frowned. “It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a slave. It’s part of his job, Caroline. Don’t carriage drivers up north have to wait, too?” I could tell that he was annoyed with me, but then his tone and his expression softened as he decided to make light of it. “Listen now. Sometimes my job requires me to spend long hours waiting, as well. In fact, I’ve been waiting two months for this blasted convention to reach a decision. After what happened today, maybe they finally will.”
I knew he was right. I recalled seeing long lines of carriages in Philadelphia, waiting for a party or some other social gathering to end. The emotion-filled day must have made me overly sensitive. I started to climb into the carriage behind Sally and Jonathan, but Charles stopped me.
“Caroline. . . ?” His fingers caressed my cheek while his eyes searched mine, as if to see if his words had offended me. “I agree that some plantation slaves have a difficult life,” he said gently. “But our servants lead pretty good lives, don’t they?”
I glanced up at Josiah, but his stony expression was unreadable. I wanted to explain to Charles that Josiah and Tessie were in love, to ask Charles how he would feel if we were prevented from living together in marriage, as they were. But I didn’t say anything. Charles was a good man who genuinely hated injustice. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been raised to accept slavery as a natural way of life, just as Daddy and Jonathan and everyone else in Richmond had been. The fact that I sometimes saw things differently could never alter the fact that I loved him.
“Yes, Charles,” I said. “They’re treated well.”
On Sunday, Daddy and I joined the St. Johns for worship services at St. Paul’s Church. Across the street in Capitol Square, the Rebel flag had been removed from the capitol building, and the United States flag waved in the breeze above it once again. Most of the excitement over the surrender of Fort Sumter had died away, but a cloud of suspense seemed to hover over the city as everyone braced for the next thunderclap.
Nearly every pew in church was filled with people, and I knew that nearly every heart, like mine, was filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Even so, most people avoided discussing the latest news and talked of spiritual matters, as was fitting and proper on the Lord’s Day. Daddy and I joined Charles’ family for a lovely Sunday dinner, and it was as if Sumter had never happened as our conversation focused on simple pleasantries.
Monday’s news plunged us all back into the maelstrom.
Every newspaper in the nation trumpeted the appalling headline— President Lincoln had declared war on the South. To prove his resolve, he had called for an army of seventy-five thousand men to put down the rebellion. I desperately needed Charles to reassure me that Virginia would not become involved in this conflict, that our wedding would take place in July, that we would begin our new life together just as we’d planned. But Charles was gone all day and half the night as the state convention met in the capitol to debate secession.
When I read the newspaper on Tuesday, all remaining hope for neutrality dissolved. Lincoln’s secretary of war had demanded that Virginia do its share to quench the Southern rebellion by sending three regiments of soldiers to Washington. Governor Letcher refused this demand. He must have had a change of heart since the night Fort Sumter surrendered, because he told President Lincoln that his request “has inaugurated civil war.”
I waited all day Tuesday for Charles to come, then all day Wednesday. Sick with anxiety, I sorted through the items in my hope chest, folding and refolding linen sheets and damask napkins, wondering if I’d ever have a chance to use them. Tessie threatened to lock the chest and take away the key.
“You gonna have them nice things all worn out before you ever use a one of them,” she scolded.
Charles finally arrived at our house early Thursday morning, exhausted after a sleepless night of debates. I quickly dressed and hurried downstairs without taking time to pin up my hair. The news he brought Daddy and me was anything but reassuring.
“Late last night the convention reached a decision,” he said wearily. “Virginia has joined the Confederacy.We’ve seceded from the Union.”
Charles’ usually neat clothing was rumpled, his shoulders bent with fatigue. He seemed almost too tired to stand. Daddy invited him into the library, where he collapsed into a chair.
“It’s war,” he said. “We’re in this fight now. There is no way to avoid it.”
Outside, the April morning was peaceful and serene. Blossoming trees showered the grass with pink and white petals. Spring flowers pushed through the warming soil. No armies marched, no cannon boomed, no battle cries disturbed the sound of birdsong. The very idea of war seemed preposterous.
“What changed the delegates’ minds?” Daddy asked. “The victory at Fort Sumter?”
Charles sighed and shook his head. “President Lincoln tipped the scales against himself when he called for soldiers from Virginia. When it comes right down to it, the Virginia militia simply can’t turn against their fellow Southerners. If we have to fight and die, then it will be for the states’ right to govern themselves, not for Northern tyranny.”
I listened, sick at heart, while they discussed the secessionist vote. Charles explained how most of the opposition to secession had come from western Virginia. Daddy offered his scathing opinion of the gangly despot who had taken over the White House.
“Let’s all have some breakfast,” I said when I could no longer stand listening to the disturbing conversation.
“Thank you, but I really can’t stay,” Charles said. He slowly stood, as if getting up out of the chair required the last of his strength. My father stood as well and crossed the room to shake Charles’ hand.
“Thanks for stopping by with the news,” Daddy said. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, there’s something I must attend to.” Daddy left, closing the library door behind him. He had given Charles and me a rare moment alone.
Charles opened his arms to me and I rushed into them. He held me closer, more tightly than ever before. I felt his heart thumping as I wept against his chest.
“Listen now,” he murmured. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
I pulled away to look up at him. “Is it really, Charles? Promise? Because right now I feel like nothing in our lives will ever be the same.”
He didn’t answer. Instead he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me. But it wasn’t the warm, tender kiss he’d given me four months ago on the night we were engaged. This time his lips were possessive. His hands caressed my back, then became lost in my unbound hair. For a few brief moments, I forgot that the world was crumbling around us as I kissed him in return.
When he finally pulled away, we were both breathless. “I love you, Caroline,” he said hoarsely. “That’s one thing that will never change.”
Then, before either of us wished, he turned and left.
By the end of the day, the Confederate flag flew above the capitol. All business was suspended as news of Virginia’s secession spread. Cannon fired, bells rang, people rushed to and fro, shouting and cheering in the streets, just as they had after Fort Sumter surrendered. Jonathan came to the house to fetch me after supper, and we drove downtown to pick up Sally and Charles.
Throughout that warm, spring evening of April 19, a magnificent torchlight procession illuminated the city of Richmond. Bands played, crowds cheered and sang as they paraded down Main Street; rockets and Roman candles exploded and blazed. Once again, we listened as a succession of orators delivered impassioned speeches about the War for Southern Independence.
“I predict that in less than sixty days we will capture Washington,” one of the speakers said. Someone shouted from the crowd, “No, thirty days!”
I prayed it would be so. Charles and I were to be married in just ninety days.
After the first few hours, I found the excitement enervating. Charles also seemed drained after missing a night’s sleep. His enthusiasm, like mine, had been subdued all evening. When we came upon a deserted park bench near Capitol Square, we sat down to rest for a few minutes, away from the clamor and noise of bands and speeches.
“You don’t seem to be rejoicing like everyone else,” I said.
He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m tired. This has been the longest week of my life.”
I turned toward him on the bench so I could see his face. It appeared shadowed and gray, not from the night all around us, but from a restless anxiety deep inside him. “What’s going to happen?” I asked softly. “Please be honest with me, Charles. I know we’re at war, but . . . how will it all end?”
He wouldn’t look at me. For a long moment he didn’t reply. Instead, he held my hand in both of his, gently toying with the ruby ring he had placed on my finger. “You deserve to know the truth,” he finally said. “I don’t think we can possibly win this war.”
A rocket flared and boomed close by. Charles looked up at me, and his face was momentarily illuminated in sparkling light. “The Northerners have more manpower than we do, more resources, more guns. Compared to them, the South does very little manufacturing. We’re dependent on imported goods, yet we have no navy to protect our harbors. We’ll need cannon, arms, ammunition— but aside from Tredegar, there are few factories to produce them. Our transportation and supply networks are horribly inadequate. Five different railroads serve Richmond, but they are different gauges, and none of them connect properly with the others. It’s that way all over the South. . . .”
I touched my fingers to his lips to stop him. I didn’t want to hear anymore. There was another question I needed to ask, but I dreaded his answer. I turned away, afraid I would read the truth in his eyes before I found the courage to ask.
We sat in the dark for several minutes, watching the excitement that swirled around us. I felt wonderfully detached from it all, as if Charles and I floated magically above it, invisible, safe. But he brought me back to earth again when he sighed and said, “Listen now. If you’re rested, we should try to find the others. I think it’s time we headed home.” He started to rise, but I stopped him, my need to know suddenly greater than my fear.
“Are you going to fight in this war, Charles?”
He paused, then said, “I have to.”
“Why? Why can’t we go abroad for a while? Let’s live in London or Paris or someplace else until this ends.”
“Virginia is my home,” he said quietly, “not London or Paris. I have to fight to defend it. To protect you, my family, my friends.”
“Can’t you fight some other way? The new government will need leaders; can’t you run for office?”
“There are plenty of experienced politicians for that. They’re stepping all over each other, in fact.”
“What about your father’s mills? Won’t there be a greater demand for flour—”
“We’re at war. I have to fight.”
“But you just said you didn’t believe we could win.”
“Maybe not. But I do believe in the cause.”
“The cause? How can you say you believe in this cause?” I was growing panicked at the thought of Charles taking up a gun, fighting, dying. “You’ve admitted to me that slavery is morally unjust—”
“Caroline, listen now. . .”
“How can you fight for the right to preserve slavery?”
“This war isn’t about slavery. It’s about giving Virginians—not the politicians in Washington—the right to decide what goes on in Virginia. We’re fighting for the freedom to govern ourselves, just as our ancestors did during the first Revolution. All we want is independence, to be left alone to—”
“To continue slavery.”
“No. To govern ourselves.”
“So you’re going to pick up a gun and march off to war? You’re going to fight against a more powerful enemy, knowing you can’t possibly win?” I was trembling all over with dread and fear. Charles took both my hands in his and held them tightly against his chest, speaking calmly to soothe me.
“They were outmanned and outgunned during the last revolution, too. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison . . . a handful of courageous men from Virginia weren’t afraid to defend themselves against a stronger, despotic government. Right here in St. John’s Church, Patrick Henry said ‘Give me liberty, or give me death!’ They all fought to win our freedom the first time. Now I have to fight to keep that freedom.”
“Please don’t go to war, Charles.”
I have to,” he said softly. “I have to stand up for what I believe.”
I lowered my head and closed my eyes as my tears began to flow. Charles gently took my face in his hand and lifted my chin. “Caroline, look at me . . . Remember the day we first met, how you clubbed me with your bag? I was much bigger and stronger than you were, but you believed that I was wrong to chase that boy, and you decided to stand up for what you believed. You must have known you couldn’t possibly defeat me in a brawl, didn’t you? But you had to do something, you had to try. It’s the same with this war. We have to try. Besides,” he added, smiling slightly, “you did win the war, Caroline. You won my heart, my love . . . my life. Who knows, maybe the South will win, too.”
I clung to Charles on that park bench in Capitol Square, not caring if it was improper, my face pressed tightly against his chest. He held me, gently rocking me, as cannon fire and church bells and Roman candles filled the night with noise, drowning out the comforting sound of his heartbeat.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I wept.
“You can’t lose me, Caroline. I’m yours forever.”
By the time Jonathan and I returned home it was late. It didn’t take much to convince him to spend the night in our guest room. I found Tessie waiting in my room with a lamp lit to help me undress.
“What’s all the noise and carrying-on about this time?” she asked as she unpinned my hair.
“Virginia has left the Union. We’re going to war against the Northern states.”
“They celebrating that?”
I nodded wearily as she ran the brush through my hair.
“I think you’ve had enough of this here celebrating,” she said, pointing to the mirror. “See how pale you are? You all worn out. Look like they dragged you down Franklin Street behind a team of horses.”
My eyes filled with tears. “Charles is going to fight.”
The brush froze in Tessie’s hand. “You mean in the war? What about your wedding?”
“I don’t know.”
She bent over me to hold me in her arms. I allowed her to soothe me for a minute, then I gently pulled away. “Josiah is here,” I told her. “He and Jonathan are spending the night. I think you should go be with your husband.”
For a moment she looked taken aback. “Well . . . we’ll see about that later. Let me get you tucked away in bed, first.”
“No, you go now, Tessie. Time is much too precious to waste. I’m a grown woman. I can get undressed by myself.”
“You sure?”
“He’s your husband. You belong with him.”
I stood at my bedroom window after Tessie left, gazing outside into the night. A light shone from the carriage house and I knew that Eli was inside, taking care of Jonathan’s horses. I watched him passing back and forth in front of the window as he worked, barely visible through the veil of new leaves and tree branches, and I felt the same helpless anger I’d felt the night I’d seen Josiah waiting for us on the carriage seat. He and Eli were grown men, human beings, with lives that didn’t deserve to be wasted on someone else’s whim.
I thought I understood how they must feel. I had also lost control over my life, my future. I was forced to submit to a war I neither believed in nor wanted, powerless to act while others decided my fate. Charles could go to war, fight for control, take action to win back the freedom he felt was being stolen from him. But the war could rob me of my wedding day, my husband, my tranquil future in Richmond, Virginia—and like Eli and Josiah, I could do nothing about it. We could only stand by and wait.
I hadn’t changed out of my dress yet, so I slipped my shoes back on and went outside to talk to Eli. He was scooping feed into the trough for the horses, but he stopped when he saw me and ambled over to where I stood.
“I hear there’s big news going around. They talking about a war.”
“It has already started. Charles told me tonight that he’s going to fight in it.”
“He’s a good man, Missy Caroline. Your Massa Charles a real good man.”
“I know. But now all the plans we had for a life together . . .” I paused, battling to control my tears. I didn’t want to cry. Eli waited patiently until I could trust myself to speak.
“The world I know has changed, Eli. It finally sank in tonight that war is inevitable. The men I love will all go off to fight— some of them might die. My life will never be the same as it was two days ago, and I want it all back.”
“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”
“I’m so afraid of what lies ahead. We’re at war. It doesn’t seem like it right now, but the war has begun, and now there’s an enemy out there who wants to destroy me and my loved ones and my way of life. I don’t feel safe anymore. I think of all the things I took for granted and might no longer be able to do, things like walking in the park or visiting the plantation. Will I ever get married, Eli? Have a home? Be a mother? My security and stability are all gone, all changed, and I can never get them back. I can’t even go to bed without the fear of what tomorrow will bring. I feel so helpless.”
“That’s a terrible feeling, Missy Caroline. I sure know it is. From the moment I born I ain’t never had any power over my own life. I never knowing about tomorrow, if I be living here or if I be sold to auction like little Grady. They snatch away the people I love, like Grady and Josiah, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I ain’t telling you all this so you feel sorry for me. No, I telling you so maybe you can face it like I do . . . so maybe you can lay down your head at night and not worry about tomorrow.”
“What’s your secret, Eli?”
“Ain’t no secret at all. It’s right there in the Bible—you give your life to Massa Jesus. You stop trying to control everything and to figure everything out, and you let Him do all the figuring. That way, if it’s God’s will I be set free tomorrow, then I be set free. If Massa Fletcher sell me to auction tomorrow, I know it ain’t because it’s Massa Fletcher’s idea; Jesus must be wanting me down there for some reason, so I better get on down there and do it. The Bible says men got plenty of plans in his heart, but it’s always the Lord’s plans that win. Right now it’s your plan to marry Massa Charles, have a bunch of little babies, live happy-ever-after. But that might not be God’s plan. Can you live with that, Missy?”
I couldn’t lie to Eli or to myself. “No. I would be very angry with God.”
“That’s why we struggle. Until we can pray, ‘Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven,’ we gonna have a whole lot of sleepless nights. We want to make our own plans and then pray, ‘My will be done, if you please Massa Jesus, in earth, as it is in my plans.’ You got to put your life in Jesus’ hands. Trust that in the end, whatever happens, He still in control.”
“I can’t. I don’t have as much faith as you do.”
“Faith don’t come in a bushel basket, Missy. It come one step at a time. Decide to trust Him for one little thing today, and before you know it, you find out He’s so trustworthy you be putting your whole life in His hands.”
“That’s the problem—my whole life has been turned upside down. What’s going to happen to all of us?”
“God’s gonna have His way, Missy Caroline, that’s what’s gonna happen. God always have His way.”